The Dancing Man

(This is an old post from an old blog. But I always liked it so I thought, "Why not post it again?" Then I did.)

I always thought the Dancing Man would be the guy to grow up to be. Who was the Dancing Man? I haven’t a clue.

Years ago when I lived in Ottawa, down by the National Arts Centre, over by the Rideau Canal across from the War Memorial, I’d see this guy dancing. He looked to be maybe in the 60 year range. He never said a word. He just smiled and slow danced to music only he heard.

He was very cool. I always figured he was French-Canadian because his hair was slicked back in the style of Maurice ‘The Rocket’ Richard (image on the right). My uncle Fred looked that way too, at least as I recall him. They had the same body type - but it was that hair. Somehow, these guys were so damned dapper all the time. French-Canadian guys of that period were just so cool looking - a mix of dignity, quiet confidence and with none of that annoying ego so many people have now.

The Dancing Man, as mentioned, just slow-danced around, arms akimbo, a huge smile on his face that was constant. Constant. I have no idea what thoughts were going through his head, how he saw the world or what kind of life he was living or had lived, but he seemed so happy. So content.

Today, I often find myself doing the same sort of thing in my condo house, though usually there is music as I run my iPod through my stereo. But I often find myself slow-dancing around, arms out-stretched like the Dancing Man.

When I become aware of what I’m doing, I usually glance nervously at the window and think, "I hope the neighbours aren’t watching this."

But then I think, what if they are? Maybe they’ll be like me watching the Dancing Man and think, "I wish I was that guy. I wish I could feel that way."

(Originally posted October, 2005.)